


Hindsight

by RoseAlenko



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Angst, F/M, Fluff, One Shot, based on leak spoilers, requested on tumblr
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-02
Updated: 2017-08-02
Packaged: 2018-12-10 03:56:57
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,059
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11683533
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RoseAlenko/pseuds/RoseAlenko
Summary: She knew now he was a man of honor and loyalty, a good man. A man who would never deceive her.A man she had sent to his death.





	Hindsight

**Author's Note:**

> Hi guys! I wrote this little ficlet after it was requested on tumblr. It is loosely based on leaked spoilers for this season about the wight hunt so be mindful of that if you're avoiding :) Thanks!

“Khaleesi, please. You must eat something. You must.”

Dany ignored Jorah and continued staring out the grimy tower window. It provided only the faintest view of the roiling sea beyond. Between the ocean mist, the sunless sky, and the dirty glass, everything was shades of grey. All things considered it was the perfect setting to match her melancholy.

“Daenerys,” Jorah tried again, his voice soft. “It’s been a day and a half. We need to start planning our next move. You need sleep. Food. Please.”

She turned to Jorah slowly, raising her red-rimmed eyes to his. There was a world of pity in their blue depths. But it didn’t matter. What could pity do for her now? It couldn’t bring Viserion back. It couldn’t bring  _Jon_  back.

“Leave me,” she whispered. Jorah watched her helplessly for a moment more and then departed, his head hanging with disappointment.

Dany sighed, facing the window again and wrapping herself more tightly in the cape. His cape. It was so lovely, the fur lining thick and warm, though Dany suspected she might never feel warm again.

It had been weeks before when they were trekking up from the caves back to the castle that Jon had given her the cape. She caught a chill from the wind rolling off the sea in the night and Jon had swept the cloak from his own back to throw it over her shaking shoulders.

“I’m f-fine,” she had protested through chattering teeth, bringing a smirk to Jon’s lips.

“Of course you are, Your Grace. But why not wear it all the same? It suits you.”  

She had worn it almost every day since, comforted by the weight of it on her back, the smell of Jon lingering in the pelts. It was laughably ill-fitting, swallowing her tiny form and trailing behind her when she walked because she didn’t match Jon’s height. But she had liked wearing it, and enjoyed the knowing looks they exchanged when Jon would see her in it and offer one of his rare little smiles.

Now it was all she had left of him.

And no one to blame but herself. What kind of queen was she if she couldn’t protect her closest friends? What kind of mother if she couldn’t protect her children?

Dany was weak and tired with grief but every time she closed her burning eyes she would see Viserion plummeting from the sky and through the sheet of ice. If she so much as  _thought_  of sleep she was assaulted by the Night King’s wicked sneer of triumph as he watched her dragon fall to his death.

In the quiet she could hear Viserion’s screech of pain when the spear pierced his flesh, the last desperate beat of his wings in the air. When her dragon’s beautiful, creamy golden wings had vanished beneath the ice Dany felt like the spear had landed in her own heart instead, agony so sharp it left her gasping for air, hyperventilating forgetting to maintain her grip on Drogon as he soared over the devastation below.

It was Jon who had called her back to the present, Jon who reminded her why she had flown into hell itself.

“ _Daenerys!_ ” he had yelled, his strong voice cutting through the snowy wind to reach her in the sky, drawing her attention to her friends stranded on the battlefield.

So when she and Drogon had landed on a patch of clear ground to let the survivors clamber aboard, Dany felt the slightest glimmer of hope. Viserion was fallen, her child, her love, a  _part_  of her that could never, ever be replaced. He was gone; but Dany knew his death had been the price she paid for the lives of these men. With Viserion’s aid she had come in time to protect the men who would help her lead humanity through the Long Night.

Tyrion had advised her not to fly North, but watching Jon cut down dozens of wights and even an Other to protect his friends, Dany had known she made the right choice to save the lives of the men she had put in harm’s way.

But then Jon Snow had fallen and just like Viserion he sunk into the icy lake, a lake surrounded by wights. Dany had circled Drogon back around once, twice, three times, dodging spear throws and arrows from below, waiting to see Jon’s head break the surface of the lake, waiting for an opening to land again and drag him from the frigid waters herself if that was what it took.

But Jon didn’t come back up. And Dany had been forced to give into the urging of Jorah and Beric Dondarrion when they begged her to fly for Eastwatch while they still had the chance.

So here she sat, suffocating under the weight of her regret, wishing she could do it all differently. Dany longed to go back to that night on the beach. She would thank Jon when he wrapped his cape around her. She would look up into his eyes, black in the moonlight, and tell him she believed in him. That she knew now he was a man of honor and loyalty, a good man. A man who would never deceive her.

A man she had sent to his death.

She still remembered the day Jon left, how she had felt watching him ready his boat on the shoreline. A dark dread had seized upon her heart and something inside her begged her to intervene. Something told her that the markings on the wall in the caves beneath Dragonstone mattered. That her weeks at Jon Snow’s side had shown him to be an honest and pragmatic man, a man who would never fabricate fantastical stories to undermine her. Something told her that he was telling the truth, and that this wight hunt was a fool’s errand and a waste of their precious time.

But her doubt and uncertainty had won out in the end, and she reminded herself that if this Army of the Dead was indeed real, they would still need proof to convince  _all_  of the Southern houses to join the fight.

Jon had approached her last, after everyone else was in the boat, preparing to push off. He was awkward, hesitant, clearing his throat and refusing to look her in the eye.

“If I don’t return, at least you’ll finally be rid of the King in the North,” he quipped.

 _No_ , she had thought desperately.  _No. If I had my way you’d never leave my side again. I believe you. I trust you. I need you. Stay with me. Stay._

Instead Dany had lifted her eyes to find Jon’s, her heart breaking at the look of tenderness that came over his features when he saw her unshed tears. He looked unfairly handsome with all his well-worn armor and grim resolve, the black curls of his hair escaping the tie in the wind.

“No,” she answered in a choked voice. “I’ve grown used to him.”

Jon had smiled sadly at that, shifting from one foot to another for a moment before nodding and turning to the boat at last. Dany had not stayed on the beach to watch them sail away. It was more than she could bear.

It was only now she knew that she had been right to worry and wrong to ever allow their plan to go forward. She had been wrong from the moment she met him—wrong to doubt him, wrong to command him to bend the knee. He was as passionate and untamable as she was, and she wouldn’t have him any other way.

But he was gone now. Hindsight did nothing to change that.

Dany was startled from her thoughts by the sound of her chamber door. This time her visitor hadn’t even bothered to knock, and she shifted in her seat to face Jorah standing in the doorway again.

When she opened her mouth to order him away he raised a hand to silence her.

“My queen, there is something you need to see at once.”

Dany’s heart pounded in her ears as she waited for what he would say next. Had the Night King caught up to them already? Was he at the castle gates with his demon army, waiting to smite them all and then begin his deadly assault on Westeros? An assault that she knew could have been resisted if only she had listened, if only she had trusted Jon.

“There’s a visitor. In the downstairs bunks.”

It was then that she noticed his grin, his posture, the look of someone who had just received good news.

 _Jon_.

Dany stood so quickly that her chair fell backward and hit the wooden floor with a loud clunk as she fled the room, bustling past Jorah and out into the castle’s dark and unfamiliar hallways. But something pulled her in the right direction, guiding her clumsy steps as she broke into a jog, descending the stairs and passing through corridors until she stood before the door to the first floor bunks.

Jon’s friend, Tormund, the enormous man from North of the Wall with fire in his hair, stood sentinel at the entrance, his eyes lighting up at the sight of Dany.

“Careful, Yer Grace,” he cautioned her. “He’s in a bad way—”

Dany’s heart leapt at the confirmation in his words and she abruptly shoved by him into the room.

It was dark and windowless, lit only by a newly-set fire in the ancient grate. In the shadowy back corner she saw Jon laid out on a cot, his face bloodied, clothes wet and dirty and caked in blood as well. But he was  _alive_ , breathing, looking up at Beric, who regarded him with his one good eye and spoke quietly.

At the sound of her arrival they both looked over and Jon’s face softened, his cracked lips curving into a smile.

Dany felt a cry burst from her throat and she ran to him, heedless of how the others stared, of her unkempt hair and swollen eyes. She tripped and stumbled on the hem of the cloak as she went but she didn’t care about that either, too overwhelmed with joy and relief at the sight of him, at the life in his eyes and the breath in his chest.

She flung herself at Jon, wrapping her arms around the bulk of his wildling furs and hugging him close with all her strength. They had never embraced before, had never even touched one another aside from the simple courtesy of Jon offering his hand to help her through the uneven footing of the caves back home; but Dany didn’t care that it was too familiar, that it was inappropriate. He was  _alive_  and she would never take that reality for granted again.

Jon chuckled in surprised delight at her fervor but the action sent him into a fit of coughs and Dany pulled back, her brows knitted with worry. But before she could say anything Jon spoke first, his voice a barely audible whisper.

“Are you alright?” he asked her, raising a trembling hand to push the hair out of her eyes.

“ _Me_?” Dany shook her head at him in disbelief, smiling through her tears. “You fool,” she murmured. “I am now.”

Jon slowly wrapped his arms around her and Dany leaned into him, nuzzling her face against his neck. She could scarcely believe it was real, that he was here, that he was moving and talking and clinging to her like a lover. She still feared she might wake up in the lonely tower to find it was just a cruel dream. After all, to have him back was more than she deserved after everything she had done.

“Forgive me. You were right all along. I never should have let you go,” she sobbed. “Don’t . . . don’t ever leave me again.”

Jon tensed at her words and Dany held her breath, fearing she had gone too far. How could he want her now? The woman who had doubted him and then failed to save him when it mattered most.

But then Jon tightened his arms around her, shushing her soothingly before speaking at her ear. “Don’t you worry. I’m not finished with the Dragon Queen just yet. I’ve grown used to her.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! Drop a comment if you liked it :D


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